He felt himself dream weird. On that bed. Dreaming weird as the space he was now inside. - Beneath a cover pouring into the space he was still trapped inside, a cover of weird dreams played across his consciousness. A new trick? Entirely again, like always... internal? He felt himself dream weird. He felt himself dream quick.

- His shut eyes beneath a flood of warmth and blood, an avalanche of heat, and blood: a river that pushed through his eyes; running through him, pushing through, pushing him out - the colours off his face bubbling beneath his face, pushing him through, riding on it - off and up the bed; a river pushing him through -

through - scrabbling to hold, something; the bed/the bed itself floating, the walls - the walls themselves cracking, he was pushed through that -

Still there. In one blink all gone. He was on the bed again perfectly still, merely his own thoughts. - He felt a terrible quick access beneath his eyes, to a scale, of weird dreams, pointed into him, fused to him, where – he had never dreamed. Why had he never dreamed? But not -

Assailed by lies and weird dreams, he felt a power beneath his face, inside his body, that flooded him with a – it was a liquid. Inside, not the room itself, it was within, and its dreams, images, at a rate of untold - reality passed through his brain, incoherent forms of words and liquid, shapes, that made forms, colours that burned the fibres beneath his eyes. And he felt rigid. Rigid! His neck locked, his face thrown up, he was assailed/something, but he couldn't. He threw up, suddenly he threw up, because the thing was in, it was inside him... with weird dreams,

that he felt -

He was somewhere else.